Scott said, "And Artie… you have to promise not to try juggling any more beer kegs by yourself in the future. Next time you need a keg changed, if I’m not close by, get one of the waiters or a busboy to help you."
"I know. I know. If I really wanted the exercise I’d go join the gym like you young fellas do. Can’t you just see me tossing those weights around, lifting dumbbells and cowbells?"
"I think you mean barbells, Artie," Scott said with a grin.
"Not to change the subject, but Arturo called me at home and told me about the police interrogations this morning. I’m sorry everybody had to go through all that. Were they horrid to you?"
"Well, they didn’t send any gay cops this time; let’s put it that way," Scott said. "You’ll get your turn to be subjected to their questions. They wanted to come and yank you out of bed when they left here this morning, but Arturo convinced them you were so drugged up you were practically in a coma."
"God bless him."
"They’ll want to speak to you as soon as they can, though," Ruth said. "They wanted to know if there were any other employees too, and I wasn’t sure. I told them I only work part time. They talked to Scott and me and Arturo, of course, plus James and Jake and Phil, when he came in a little later. Who else is there, Artie?"
"Well, there’s Tim, of course, but he hasn’t been around much since the accident. Let me think… there’s Pablo, the new busboy. He just started this week—he’s another one of Arturo’s nephews—but they’ll need a translator to get anything out of him. He was working last night, though."
"I haven’t met him yet, then. Does he know about Jorge, the boy who was murdered last year? They’re not related, are they?"
"Who knows? They could be cousins. I leave Arturo in charge of the kitchen help. I imagine Pablo must have heard the history about this place, about Jorge and Jason and the others, but at least we know that killer is dead."
Ruth cringed at the memory of putting the fireplace poker through the killer cowboy’s back. "Thank heaven!"
"Is there anyone else, Artie?" Scott asked.
"There’s Danny, the accountant, but he’s only here in the morning about once or twice a month, usually on Tuesdays.
Then there’s that adorable boy who delivers our flower arrangement every week from Ixia, but he comes on Thursday afternoons and I wouldn’t exactly call him an employee. He did come to the Christmas party last year, though. Did you see his hunky boyfriend? Oh, the stuff that dreams are made of—wet dreams, I mean."
"What about Patrick?" Ruth remembered Patrick, the waiter. He worked there before she arrived in San Francisco. He reminded her of dozens of good-looking young Minnesota boys
– blonde and blue-eyed Scandinavians. "What ever became of him? He was the one who was dealing drugs, right?" Ruth was proud of what she considered the sophistication of her question.
When she’d first heard Arturo and Artie say that Patrick was dealing, she assumed they meant cards.
"Yes. Patrick," Artie sighed. "He did come back when he got out of the Betty Ford Clinic, but he only worked a few shifts.
It was right after Tim’s accident and we’d already hired James.
We didn’t need Patrick during the winter months when business was slower. Now that the tourists are starting to trickle back in, I wouldn’t mind giving him a shift here and there, but I was hoping Tim would be back by then."
"I’m sure Tim will be eager to get back to work when he’s a little stronger, Artie," Ruth said.
Jake was ordering drinks from Scott at the waiters’
station when he overheard his former co-worker’s name. "Hi, Artie. How’s your back? What were y’all saying about Patrick?"
"My back is somewhat better. I’m feeling no pain at the moment, thanks to Vicodin and one of Ruth’s marvelous Bloody Marys. Jake, have you seen Patrick lately?"
"Yeah I have, come to think of it. I usually stop by Moby’s when I get out of here on Saturday nights if I can make it in time for last call. I run into Patrick quite a lot. I didn’t see him last night, though."
"You’ve seen him drinking?" Artie set his Bloody Mary down on the bar for a moment. "Don’t they tell you not to drink when you’re trying to stay off drugs? I hope he doesn’t go back on that nasty stuff."
"The policemen also wanted to know who has access to the dumpster," Ruth said. "We assumed that the severed fingers were all that was plugging up the pipes, but the police didn’t have any proof of that."
"The plumbing has so many twists and turns, anyway,"
Artie said. "If they were plugging things up, they could have come from anywhere on the block. They didn’t necessarily go down the toilet from our little girls’ room. But, you were asking about access to the dumpsters?"
"The police were," Ruth said. "I just wanted to warn you what to expect when they question you."
"They’ll want to talk to Al… Al Marino. He owns the card shop next-door and they use our dumpster… oh, and there’s Al’s brother Ed. He just bought the apartment building directly behind us. The only access to the back for the garbage men is through their driveway. They have their own dumpster on the other side, but if ours is full we use theirs and vice versa.
The lock on that gate from the Hartford Street alley has been broken for years. And even if it was locked, that fence is so low that anyone could jump over it."
"I didn’t know there was access to Hartford Street through the back," Ruth said.
"That’s because we’ve never asked you to haul out the garbage," Artie said. "The video store has access, too. We pay the monthly garbage bill for all three of us, since we have the most trash. Al writes us a nominal check every three months that we apply to our quarterly taxes. The lesbians at the video store use our dumpster and give us free rentals in exchange. They hardly have any trash, really—maybe a wastebasket full of paper each day and some cardboard when they get shipments of new DVDs. Most of that goes in the recycling bin."
"That makes sense," Ruth wiped down the bar in front of Artie and replaced his dampened cocktail napkin.
"Thanks. I spilled a little. Do you want me to put your name on the free movie list, Ruth? It’s no problem."
"Hey, I just pre-paid them forty bucks for twenty rentals," Scott said.
"I’m sorry, Scott. I should have told you," said Artie. "Of course, you’d probably abuse the privilege with pornography and ruin it for all of us."
"I beg your pardon! You must be thinking of Jake or Phil… or Tim!" But Tim wasn’t there and Jake and Phil were too far away to hear him.
"There was something else about the dumpster, though
– something important," Ruth said. "I know! They asked who’d been painting. They found a bunch of paint cans in there. I told them I didn’t recall you painting anything in here."
"No, we haven’t painted anything lately. The last thing Arturo painted was that wall behind the piano, but that was months ago. I think Viv was still playing here then. Yes, I remember she said the color clashed with her skin tones."
Ruth thought back to "Vivacious Vivian," the piano player who was working at Arts when she first came out to visit Tim. Ruth never cared much for the woman, but she felt a little sorry for her. Ruth hadn’t meant to kill Viv’s husband, but it was either his life or Tim’s. "I wonder how Viv is doing these days."
"She sent a postcard from Paris a few weeks ago. Didn’t you see it? Arturo stuck it up on the bulletin board outside the bathrooms, but it must have fallen off. Anyway… speaking of paint cans… you can’t just put them in a dumpster. You have to dispose of them properly."
Jake stood at the waiters’ station listening, but he didn’t have a drink order. "It’s probably even more illegal to dump body parts than paint cans, Artie." The brunch rush was either at a lull or the busiest part of the day was over. Jake started folding linen napkins for the dinner shift.
All the policemen’s comments and questions were roiling through the back of Ruth’s mind. She was sure everythin
g would straighten itself out if she just gave it a rest.
Right now she needed to go back to Collingwood and change her shoes. How she wished she had time to give her feet a long soak, but it would soon be time to get ready for the dinner crowd. Somehow she and Scott had let themselves get talked into working a double, even though she’d much rather be in Hillsborough with Sam right now.
Chapter 9
im dropped the Vanity Fair magazine. It closed in his lap and slipped through his legs to the floor of the T Thunderbird. Now he wished he could crawl down there under the floor mat. He couldn’t remember when he’d felt so foolish.
"You thought I was gay, huh?" Adam said. "I get that all the time."
"Why didn’t you stop me? You let me carry on like a blithering idiot." Tim picked up the magazine and took another look at the advertisement with Adam’s fiancée, Alexandra, before he tossed it into the back seat. "She really is beautiful. I’m sure you’ll make a lovely couple and have adorable children."
"Come on, Tim… I’m sorry, okay? I have lots of gay friends. It’s no big deal. I hope you and I can be friends, too.
You’re a great guy."
It was one thing to be passed over for another man. Tim thought of all the hours he’d spent checking out a stranger in a bar. It could be his Roman nose or the way his pants fit. Tim might have liked the shape of his face or fallen for something that was only temporary, like his sideburns or his radical haircut or his T-shirt with a funny slogan on the front. He just knew the stranger’s smile was meant for him.
Then Tim would buy a fresh drink because "Mr.
Wonderful" had just bought another beer. And Tim would be thinking how fateful it was that he had a cold six-pack of the same brand in the fridge at home and how he’d put clean sheets on the bed that afternoon. It must be an omen. He’d take a deep breath and start toward him, sure that the stars were all aligned in his favor and that he never looked better in his life. Then three steps away from the man of his dreams there’d be a tap on his shoulder, "Excuse me."
And that was when Tim realized that the handsome stranger’s smile was meant for the man behind him, now trying to get by. At least it was another guy.
"I was even thinking about showing you off at the beach!
"Huh?"
"Aw, this’ll sound crazy, but the last time I was at San Gregorio, I was with Jason and…" Tim’s voice trailed off.
Whenever Tim went anywhere with Jason it felt like they were showing off. It was mostly because everyone knew Jason, but it was partly that Tim looked good, too. The two of them looked good together, better than either of them looked individually and when other guys eyed them with envy, Tim was secretly very happy.
"Now, which one was Jason again?"
"My ex… but he’s dead… the murdered one."
"Oh yeah, sorry." "There’s just something about two hot guys together." Tim felt tongue-tied in his embarrassment. "Now that I know you’re not gay, it’s hard to explain. And I know I’m nowhere near as hot as you, but when the energy is right between two guys, when they’re really into each other, they give off sort of an aura. I guess I miss that with Jason and I was fantasizing about how great you would look at the nude beach, like if… if it weren’t such a cloudy day and if… if all sorts of people I knew happened to be there. They’d all be so jealous! I know it’s silly. I must sound shallow and stupid and now I’m stoned on top of it."
"Don’t you and Nick have that… that aura when you two are together?"
"Nick and I should. It’s just that we’re hardly ever out together out in public. Or I’m at work when he comes into the restaurant and then we go straight home. Or when I’m up at the river I’m usually with him at his place. It used to be with Jason that everywhere we went I felt like people were looking at us to see who he was with and it made me kind of happy, like I was the one who had snagged the biggest prize."
"Uh-huh," Adam tried to be polite by letting Tim continue.
"I suppose Nick and I might turn a few heads at the Rainbow in the off-season, but that’s a far cry from being naked at San Gregorio. Don’t you feel that way with Alex when the two of you go someplace together?"
"I guess so."
"I’m sorry. I must sound like a real jerk. This just proves you can’t make assumptions about people, huh? I’m so embarrassed."
"Hey, I’m flattered, really. Don’t sweat it. In my business, it happens a lot. Most of the guys I work with are gay, probably more of the photographers and designers than the models, but we all get along well enough to get the job done. I know a lot of people whose sexual preference is the mirror. That doesn’t make them gay, just narcissistic."
Tim tried to laugh, but he could only nod in agreement.
"Besides, you make ‘straight’ sound like a dirty word or some awful disease… or worse, like ‘square’ or ‘boring.’ I don’t think anyone is totally anything. You must have heard of the Kinsey Scale."
"What?"
"Alfred Kinsey. A sex researcher back in the 50s or 60s.
They made a movie out of his life with Liam Neeson and Laura Linney. It was pretty good.
Tim nodded, remembering. "Nick rented that one night when I was laid up. I must have fallen asleep through it. Again."
"Kinsey developed this scale where if a person was totally heterosexual he was a zero and someone who was totally homosexual was a six."
"That must be where the Kinsey Sicks got their name."
"You lost me."
"They’re an a cappella drag group that started out in San Francisco. They sing, but they’re also really funny. They perform all over the world now." When Tim saw the lost look on Adam’s face, he grinned. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to change the subject. But I have all their CDs."
"So most people fall somewhere in between on the Kinsey Scale, if they’re honest about it." Adam grabbed another piece of his mother’s fried chicken and popped the top off a beer.
"Do you want a beer?" he offered the can to Tim.
"Maybe later. I’d better take you back to Hillsborough and then be on my way."
"What’s the rush?" Adam asked. "It’s starting to clear.
We could still go to the beach if you want. Let’s drive south a ways and check it out."
Tim started the ignition, then headed down Highway 1
but he knew he wouldn’t go to the beach now. What was he thinking, as pale as he was? The closest he’d been to being naked all winter was when Nick bathed him, but there was always a cast here, a bandage there. Now the sun was shining through the salty ocean air and one of the most beautiful men Tim had ever seen was in the passenger’s seat of the Thunderbird with the top down and the guy was straight.
"Well, it is turning into a nice day," Adam said as they drove south along the coast, "but I think it’s still too cold for the beach."
"That’s okay. I don’t feel like climbing all those stairs anyway." Tim tried to collect his thoughts, even though he was still flustered with embarrassment. "You know, the last time I was here we saw a whale just off-shore. It splashed and spouted back and forth all afternoon. Hundreds of people were lined up from one end of the beach to the other. They cheered like it was a circus act. The whale seemed to know it was putting on a show for all those naked fans."
"Maybe it was. Whales are pretty smart."
"Sure… I guess… maybe it was. So… where do you fall on the Kinsey Scale, Adam? Don’t tell me you’re one of those down-low brothers, cheating on their wives and girlfriends with gay guys and bringing home cooties… or worse!"
Adam laughed. "No, I’m totally turned on by Alexandra.
Wait til you meet her, she’s gorgeous. I still don’t want to be thought of as a square, though. I suppose I’d have to say I’m a one on the Kinsey Scale. I don’t have any plans to cheat on my wife when we’re married, but I don’t think anyone is a zero or a six."
"I am. Definitely a six!" Tim insisted. But it got him thinking. He’d always liked women. Aside from his m
other, he’d had mostly good relationships with women. There were lots of women he could honestly say that he loved, like his Aunt Ruth, of course. There was his friend Jill from high school. Tim wondered what she was doing these days. Maybe he could track her down on Facebook or something. And he loved Sarah, the magic child. She was just a little girl now, but someday she would grow up to be a woman and Tim knew he would always love her. And he loved Jane, Sarah’s mother, Tim’s downstairs neighbor and tenant. He just didn’t love any of them that way.
They were quiet for a while, admiring the views as they drove south along the cliffs and then Adam said, "I hope you’re not mad at me, Tim. I probably should have told you earlier, but I wasn’t sure when—"
"The best time would have been the minute you first stuck your head out of the swimming pool back in Hillsborough," Tim said. "But it must be hard to go through life introducing yourself with: ‘Hello, I’m Adam. I happen to be gorgeous, but I’m straight.’"
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